Be Brave. And other things we CAN do when times get rough.

There are many voices, yet there is no guidebook. 

We all are taking steps into the wilderness together, perhaps not hand-in-hand (or even within three feet of each other), but… we are in this together.

I’m not going to talk about the details of COVID-19 here. I have no authority to speak or advise in the arena of public health, let’s save that for the CDC and WHO, and my friend Jodi.

My authority here is in the arena of courage, something I believe we all need to harness right now. I’d like to speak to that. 

When the waves are too high and the raft is too small

I have a phobia of being in what I call “wild water,” which mostly consists of rivers and oceans— who am I kidding, it’s anything with waves, including that water park wave pool you loved as a child. If you’ve ever personally experienced a phobia, or even witnessed someone else’s, you understand the involuntary, crippling effects they carry. 

In June of 2015, I went on a hosted adventure trip to Ecuador. One of the planned activities was white water rafting on a Class III river in the Amazon.

Deep breath.

I harnessed my inner Engine That Could, shared with my soon-to-be paddle mates about my phobia and how I’d like them to help me if something goes wrong, and made my decision to get in the boat.

As it turns out, this wasn’t even close to a Class III river, and when our raft endo’d straight into the middle of a “Class V+” rapid, we were all immediately ejected into the depths of the Rio Napo. 

In that parallel universe under the surface, I no longer resembled myself. Instead, I became a rag doll in a washing machine. Aware only of darkness. Disoriented and powerless to fight the thrashing, spinning, twisting, until the cycle ended and released me to the surface. 

By the time I opened my eyes, everyone else was already up and working together on flipping the boat back over. The upside-down raft was not far from me, and I quickly identified it as a lifeline. I didn’t think twice about focusing all of my energy into moving towards it and reaching one arm out to grab it. 

At this point, we had cleared the rapid but were still moving very quickly toward who-knows-what. I didn’t even have the awareness to look downstream.

The person closest to me in the water knew about my phobia. He swam towards me and grabbed me, despite my free arm grabbing him back as if he were a scratching post. He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “It’s okay. You are okay. You need to let go of the boat.”

I was terrified to let go. In fact, letting go seemed exactly the opposite of what I needed and definitely not what I wanted in that moment. 

Yet in that same instant, I also saw the bigger picture. In hearing my friend’s words, I understood that the progress of the rescue effort was dependent on my letting go of the boat. Despite my selfish wishes to hang on, I knew I was only adding to the problem, and that safety for everyone, including me, would come faster if I instead chose to be brave and be part of the solution.

I let go of the boat.

It is a scary thing, to let go of what feels like a lifeline, especially in a swift current when only the unknown lies ahead and beneath. But in order for the rescue to happen at all, in order for everyone in the water to have a chance at safety, we need to work together. 

It is the same scenario in the world today. Let’s see how the lessons are similar.

No matter how scary or uncertain the waters…

Work together. It takes everyone’s participation to flip the boat, whether you are sharing the heavy lifting or keeping your distance. Every role matters.

See the big picture. Don’t hoard the lifeline for yourself. By doing so, you put your friends, family, and everyone else in danger. Instead, consider how letting go of what you are so tightly holding onto will benefit everyone, including you. For the record, this includes hoarding toilet paper and food and going out in groups.

Be strong for the vulnerable. Many people are depending on you with their lives. If you are the strong and healthy, don’t just act for yourself, act in the best interests of the vulnerable, even if it means keeping your distance.

Keep treading. Only you have the true strength to hold your head above the waves, and it is your responsibility to do so.

Don’t forget about your life jacket. What are the things that will center you, give you peace, lift you up, and keep you afloat in this time? Wrap yourself up in those things.

Listen to the experts. The river guides wouldn’t tell you to let go of the boat if they didn’t have a good reason to do so. Insert self-isolation and social distancing here. By letting go, you allow them the space to control the situation the best way they know how, in the interest of everyone’s safety. Here is that link again.

Be kind. Fear is real, there is a lot of it going around, and if you are not experiencing it, you are one of the lucky ones.

Look downstream. Don’t let the fear of the moment completely paralyze you from realizing that flow itself is opportunity. Water has just as much potential to find it’s way through cracks in a dam as it does to be caught in a whirlpool. Your flow is your choice.

Let go of what doesn’t serve you. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

Focus on what you CAN do. Choose to let go of what you have no control over to begin with, find a scratching post to hold you steady while you get your bearings, breathe, daydream about or even start planning for an adventure to come. We’re all going to need things to keep us occupied and moving forward. 

Ask yourself: Does the person you are being right now (at home, at grocery stores, on social media) resemble the person you want to be? If not, how can you course correct?

This too shall pass. Until it does, be brave, and be part of the solution.

Within minutes of letting go of the boat, I was safely inside it once again, literally pinching myself to see if what I had experienced was just a bad dream.

It wasn’t. The bare skin I pinched felt immediately tingly and warm. The sun was shining on me, I just hadn’t noticed it in my darkness.

Alive is a good feeling. Strong is a good feeling. Brave is a good feeling. I was surprised to be all three in that moment.

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Perhaps as you navigate these high waters and uncertain times, you’ll also begin to notice that the sun has been shining this entire time, ready to warm your skin if you just turn to it.

Maybe if you listen, you’ll hear the birds insisting that spring is near, even in the snowy north. 

If you look up, you’ll see that the stars still dot the night sky, just like they always have.

You may even hear people, singing across streets to each other from the windows of their homes as they sit, together, in self-isolation.

We are a resilient species, and we will get through this. We can navigate any wilderness, guidebook or not, sometimes it just takes a village, the whole village.

Be part of the village, be part of the solution.

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This morning, while scrolling Instagram instead of sleeping at 6am on an average self-isolation Saturday, I came across this caption: “What are you good at, and how can it help someone?” (btw if you’re not already following @momosface or momo’s dad @andrewknapp, you’re welcome.)

Courage is my gift, words are my medium. My purpose for putting these words here today is to encourage at least one other person to be brave and make good decisions in the midst of rough times.

What is your gift, and how can you share it today?

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